


To Say Something of the Dog

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Harm to Animals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 06:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21231476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: In which a hurt dog shows up on the doorstep of the store. It looks a little like a sweater.





	To Say Something of the Dog

At first, David thought someone had left one of his sweaters crumpled on the shop steps. He was still clinging to the dregs of his morning latte, eyes barely at half-mast. Patrick was driving home from a three-day conference this morning and his absence grated, making everything less tolerable. So David was fully prepared to believe that some miscreant had dragged out one of his few remaining prized possessions to molder in the drizzly grey morning. 

Then the black and white bundle shifted. It made a soft whining noise. 

“Nope, no, absolutely not,” David backed away as a small muzzle and two bright eyes lifted up. 

The small dog started to get up and he pressed a hand to his mouth, backing up more. Than it collapsed back down with another whine. Cautiously, David shuffled slightly closer. It had a huge cut on it’s leg that oozed blood. He gagged. 

“Ok,” he looked up and down the street for someone else to take this off his hands, but it was just him and the dog this early in the morning. “Is there a 911 for dogs?”

He stepped over the dog to get into the shop. In the backroom, he unearthed a ragged towel that they used for spills. It looked clean enough. Cleaner than the dog anyway. He went back outside and squatted down next to the dog. It looked up at him, hope clear in its eyes. 

“You did not choose the right doorstep,” David muttered, moving glacially slow to scoop up the dog in the towel, bundling it so none of it actually touched him. The dog didn’t protest, just watched him very closely as he moved back inside and set it down in the backroom. Then he called Patrick. 

“Good morning,” Patrick sounded a little tired, but happy enough over the speaker, the rush of traffic in the background. 

“I have an emergency,” David said in a rush. 

“What kind of emergency?” Patrick asked amused. “If you’re late opening up, I’ll just dock your pay.” 

“We've been over this, just because you handle payroll doesn't mean-ugh. Never mind. The emergency is canine in nature.” 

“We don’t have a dog.” 

“Correct. But someone was careless with _their_ dog and now it’s my problem,” he summed up his early morning discovery. 

“There’s the vet in Elmwood,” Patrick frowned. Ted had left his practice in the hands of his assistant, who currently had mono. It had been shuttered for two weeks. 

“My Dad has the car today,” David sighed. “But I guess I could get a cab, but the store-” 

“I’ll be there in an hour anyway,” Patrick said firmly. “Maybe see if you can get the dog cleaned up? Look for tags or something.” 

“Cleaned up?” David’s voice went up an octave without his permission. 

“I believe in you. Bye!” 

Patrick had started mimicking Alexis’ ‘byeeee’ mostly to make David full body cringe. Not appreciated right now.

He looked down at the dog. The dog looked up at him. David sighed. 

Forty-five minutes later, Patrick arrived to find an injured dog sitting in a box lined with the sweatshirt that he kept in the back in case the heat kicked out again. David felt smug about that, because the sweatshirt was hideous. The dog was mostly clean thanks to the judicious use of moistened paper towels. Also, he’d discovered she was a girl. 

“Hey there,” Patrick said softly, kneeling down by the box, holding his hand out for a sniff. 

“The leg looks...bad,” David rubbed a hand over his mouth. “She won’t let me touch it.”

“I’ll drive her over to Elmwood,” Patrick pet her for a second then got up and hugged David. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” David kissed him, his back unknotting and his breath coming easier. “Missed you.” 

“Missed you too,” he sighed. “I was hoping to spend the day here with you.” 

“Animals ruin everything.”

Patrick was too conscientious to make out with him for awhile before going, so David had to say goodbye as soon as he had said hello. It was a good thing customers had come in or it was going to be grade A moping all morning. 

His phone rang just before lunch, 

“Bad news,” Patrick sighed over the line. “They gave her some stitches and she’ll be fine, but there’s no microchip. They checked missing pet flyers here and nothing. They think she’s been on her own for a few days. Poor thing is just a puppy, less than a year old.” 

“Oh,” David carefully realigned the linen mists. 

“And the nearest shelter isn’t no-kill.” 

“Kill?” he blinked. “They kill dogs? Who lets that happen?” 

“Shelters get overcrowded,” Patrick said thickly, “so sometimes they just-” 

“No,” David didn’t care about animals as a rule. He didn’t care about this dog. But there was no reason for her to get murdered because someone hadn't taken care of her. “No.” 

“Yeah,” Patrick agreed. “Maybe...”

“...nooo,” David whined. 

“Just for a few days. See if her owners show up. If not than we can adopt her out.” 

“Just a few days?” A few days of dirty paws and fur everywhere and having to deal with poop. 

“Less than a week?” 

“I’m holding you to that.” 

“Uh huh,” Patrick had that dry humoring tone that David desperately wanted to be mad about, but actually adored. “They gave me some food, but I’ll need to pick up a few things. Should I bring something back for dinner?” 

“Yes, please,” David pressed the heel of his hand to his heart. 

The problem here was that Patrick liked dogs. This wasn’t a guess or an assumption. If they saw someone with a dog and the dog showed any interest, Patrick would squat down (never kneel, David really very much appreciated Patrick’s preference for tidiness in business casual) and make a very low key fuss over the animal. He didn’t use a baby voice, but he would look into their wet eyes and let them sniff him and scratch them behind their ears. 

Patrick had even had a dog as a young kid, but it was more his mother’s dog. A fading corgi that mostly napped and enjoyed hot dogs. When the dog (Sandy? Cindy? Some -y name) had died, his parents had opted out of having pets for awhile. 

“You wanted a dog?” David had asked. They’d been in bed, chatting as they sometimes did on days they’d been apart. Sometimes David wondered if they’d ever stop that. If someday in the future, they wouldn’t want to tell each other everything ridiculous and minute just so they could stay awake a little longer together. He hoped not. 

“I guess. The way a lot of kids do. Nothing extreme,” Patrick had said. “You know, I thought it’d be like a movie. Constant companion, affection, adventures.” 

“I’m warning you that I’m not interested in puppyplay,” David teased. 

“If I google that is something disturbing going to come up as the first few hits?” 

“I wouldn’t search for it at the store, I’ll say that much.” 

When David got home, the apartment wasn’t transformed, but it was different. There was a little bed under the kitchen table. A leash hung from one of the hooks they kept for coats and there were two bowls under the sink, one with an unappetizing mound of oversize pellets in it. 

And the dog. She’d been stitched and bandaged. Possibly cleaned up a little more. She was still mostly black with a few artistically placed white patches. Right now she was laying on the floor over Patrick’s socked feet, while he rubbed her belly. 

“So the invasion begins,” David came over to the couch, slid an arm around Patrick’s shoulders from behind and kissed his cheek. 

“She’s okay,” Patrick kissed him back. “The vet said you did a good job tidying her up by the way.” 

“Mm, not my first time picking someone up in the morning after a rough night before,” he looked down at the dog, the dog’s pink tongue flopped out the side of her mouth. “Frankly, she was more appreciative than most.” 

“Can’t believe someone let her loose like that.” 

“People can be careless,” David frowned. “Anyway, what’s for dinner?” 

They ate halfway decent Chinese takeout while the dog sniffed every inch of the apartment. Eventually she scratched at the door and Patrick got up, clipped the leash to her collar, 

“You want to come for a walk?” 

“Pass,” David leaned down to take off his shoes. “I’ll clean up.” 

The collar and leash were leather. David didn’t say anything, but he was reasonably sure they made cheaper stuff for dogs. They made cheap stuff for everything, he’d discovered. 

He changed into pajamas, settling on the couch once everything else was squared away. He almost kicked her food dish over while he washed the dishes. That was probably going to happen every time until her food dish was at someone else’s house. 

When they returned, Patrick’s cheeks a little pink from the autumn chill (it had been colder last night, too cold to be small and alone). The dog ate some of her food, before curling up in her provided bed. She left them alone as they watched a movie. 

David never slept as heavily as Patrick. He had an uneasy relationship with sleep whereas Patrick was like a robot whose power supply got cut off at ten unless he made a real effort to stay awake. 

So in the wee hours of the morning, when he felt the dip of the mattress, it woke him up instantly. For a moment, he had to stifle a scream, saying perfectly still in case it was a robber. In the moonlight, he saw the small shape of the dog, her front two paws on the end of the bed. He sat up and tried to decide what the best way to tell her to scram without waking Patrick. She took his silence as acquiescence though and jumped up. He watched her with narrowed eyes. 

Then to his great surprise, she curled up behind his legs instead of heading for Patrick. In the faint light, he could see the unnatural white of the bandage against her black fur. 

“Just for tonight,” he hissed and dropped back to the pillow. He could hear her yawn, felt her shuffled a little closer and then drop off. She didn’t snore, but there was a soft little wheeze in her breath. 

Whatever. One night. She wasn’t staying, so it didn’t matter anyway. He’d wash everything when she was gone and bleach her existence into oblivion. 

The next day, Patrick took her for a long morning walk while David got in his last stretch of sleep. They took turns showering, the dog waiting outside the door like they might drown in there. Patrick fed her the gross dry kibble. As they got dressed, she watched them, ears drooping. 

“I don’t know if we can leave her here alone,” Patrick said suddenly as he buttoned up his shirt. 

“Uh, why not? You got her toys and things. She has a bed. Sounds like a good day to me.” 

“Dogs can be destructive when left alone, sometimes.”

David had a flashback to an old girlfriend’s shih tzu that once tore a hole in her carpet because they’d stayed at a party a few hours later than usual. The thing had barely existed, five pounds of hairy fury. The dog staring at them now was at least ten or fifteen pounds. Most of David’s favorite things were here. 

“Um, you could stay home?” 

“It’s a shipment day,” Patrick shook his head. “We should both be there.” 

Which was how the dog’s bed wound up under the register. She seemed to sense her invitation there was not an open one and mostly stayed there, occasionally going into the stockroom to check in while they unloaded. 

Until Stevie came in around ten, the first customer of the day. The dog barked at her. 

“Hi,” Stevie didn’t bend down, but she did sort of lower her hand which was still too high for the dog. The dog sort of sniffed at her shoes and decided that was enough guard duty before slipping back behind the register. 

“Hi,” David held out the box she’d come to pick up. “We won’t be taking any questions today.” 

“But I have so many,” she sidled up. “Do you know you have a pest problem?” 

“David found her on the steps yesterday morning,” Patrick came out from the stockroom. “We’re going to put up some flyers, could you take one to the motel?” 

“Sure,” Stevie nodded solemnly. “Absolutely.” 

“Could it have been a guest?” Patrick peeled off a flyer from a stack. It was a good flyer. David had helped and he thought the photo really captured the dog’s....dogness. 

“We don’t allow pets,” Stevie said in her fake earnest way. 

“Could you ask?” Patrick was good at playing along when he felt like it, better at barreling through her first line of defense when he didn’t. 

She sort of shrugged, but took the flyer and the box. She looked over her shoulder at David on her way out and coyly waved the flyer at him. And was gone before he could come up with a good response. 

“If I disown her, do I have to have Alexis as my best person?” 

“Don’t disown Stevie,” Patrick said absently. “At least not until after she’s given all our guests a discounted rate on rooms.” 

“Practical, but annoying,” he deemed and went back to counting jars of kimchi. They were Cajun style which was pretty good if you didn’t think about it too hard first. 

Patrick and the dog went out in the afternoon to put up flyers around town. David helped a few customers, but it was quiet. Mostly he scanned through Instagram, looking for some fun Halloween ideas that weren’t tacky or guaranteed to accidentally spook him when he inevitably forgot they were there. 

The dog came back home that night with them. Patrick walked and fed her. They read on the couch until bed, talked about the pros and cons of a trendily dressed scarecrow in the store window (Patrick was probably trolling him...probably), and at ten, Patrick fell asleep. 

David stayed in bed for awhile. He knew what insomnia felt like, the creeping wakefulness even as his body and brain begged for sleep. These days he stayed in bed for longer than he would’ve before. Spooning with Patrick was still nice even if he couldn't sleep. Eventually, though he gave up and migrated to the couch. There was a small lamp set up at the right angle that it wouldn’t throw light on the bed. 

He’d been slogging through a detective novel Patrick had finished last month and seemed to like. It wasn’t his usual genre and he wasn’t a huge fan of puzzles. Still, it was nice to bounce theories off Patrick and watch him try not to react to increasingly ridiculous scenarios. He picked the book back up and rested his head on the arm of the couch. 

Dog nails clicked against the hardwood floors. She came up next to him, nose just high enough to bump his elbow. 

“Not the couch too, you can’t colonize the whole place.” 

She just sat there and stared at him until he reluctantly scratched behind her ears like Patrick did. She leaned into the touch, dropping the weight of her small head into his palm. Her coat was very soft, thicker than he’d have guessed when he was first dabbing dirt off of her. 

“Don’t shed on me,” he instructed and went back to his book. It wasn’t until he was finally drowsy an hour or so later that he realized she had migrated next to him on the couch and he was still absently petting her. 

The couch had a light coating of black fur when she jumped down. That would need a lint roller in the morning. 

Over the course of the next three days, they had two inquires about the dog. Neither turned out to be the actual owner. Meanwhile, the dog came to work and slept in their home and was generally just everywhere. 

“Um, I don’t know if we should,” Patrick said the third night as David ran an inquisitive hand up his thigh. 

“Why?” David froze, sudden visions of horrible crash and burn relationships dancing through his head. 

“The dog. She’s watching us,” Patrick looked away from him, clearly hearing himself as he said it out loud. 

David glanced to the side of the bed. The dog was sitting nearby, looking disinterestedly in their direction. 

“Are you worried we’re going to corrupt her?” He asked, now that the initial flood of adrenaline could retreat. 

“It’s just...weird. To have someone watching. Don’t you think?” 

“If it was a ‘someone’ it might be weird unless it was something we’d decided on well before hand, and no, that’s not something I’m looking to do,” he snorted, “Anyway, the dog is not a ‘someone’ in this scenario.” 

“Have you done that before?” And Patrick’s eyes lock back on to his and David grinned. 

“Why don’t I tell you about it?” 

Patrick might be good for a little flare of jealousy here or there, but stories from David’s exploitative past weirdly did something from him. He had a feeling it was more that Patrick liked how David would lean in close and whisper details into his ear. 

The dog survived them having sex by being summarily bored by it and heading for her dog bed once things got going. 

On Saturday, David meant to bring up looking for someone to adopt the dog. Except that Saturdays were busy days and they had to rush to the store after David hit the snooze alarm twice before Patrick got back from the morning walk. He had to get ready in a hurry and then they were in the store, moving product as fast as they could. 

A lull finally hit around noon, so David took the window to get them lunch. He returned to find Patrick, hands on his waist, staring down at the dog. Good, maybe Patrick could start the conversation. 

“The dog is defective,” Patrick declared instead. 

“Hm?” David stopped in the doorway, brown paper bag hanging from one hand. 

“Just...watch this,” Patrick took a tennis ball out of his pocket and rolled it across the floor. 

The dog watched it go, then looked back up at Patrick expectantly. With a sigh, Patrick went and picked up the ball. 

“Is she teaching you how to play fetch?” David repressed a grin. 

“No-” Patrick paused. “I see how it looks that way. What dog doesn’t chase after a ball?” 

“One who has the sense to know they’re in a store full of breakable things?”

“She won’t do it outside either.” 

Setting down the food, David rubbed on of Patrick’s arms, “Maybe tennis just isn’t her game.” 

“Something should be. For a puppy, she isn’t very energetic.” There was a hint of sadness there. 

“She just has strong preferences,” David reached under the counter and pulled out a length of rope. It had been in the bags Patrick brought from the pet store. It had an interesting pattern and David had taken it, considering using it decoratively somehow which was how he discovered what it was actually for. 

The dog bolted to him and sunk her teeth into on end. David held firm on his end with one hand and started unpacking his lunch with the other. She wasn’t very big, and if he gave it a shake every once and awhile, it occupied her for minutes at a time. 

“You’re playing with her,” the sadness was gone, replaced by fond amusement. 

“Just long enough for you to eat your sandwich,” he tsked. “Then you can take over.”

It didn’t seem right to bring up adopting after that. He’d do it tomorrow when they were both off. 

“I’m sorry about this,” Patrick said for the tenth time as David tucked a first aid kit into a duffel bag. “But you know they never call me for anything and-” 

“It’s fine,” David zipped the bag closed and held it out to him. “Go help your parents. Take as long as you need.” 

“It should only be a day or two,” he reached for David, pulling him into a hug, “Mom said the flooding wasn’t as bad as they thought.” 

“I put a bottle of the lotion she likes in there,” he kissed him. “Text me when you reach them.” 

“Thank you. I love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

And Patrick was gone, leaving the apartment eerily quiet. Until the dog wuffled in her sleep. David glanced at her. 

Shit. Who was going to walk her? And feed her? He texted Stevie who sent him a line of laugh-cry emojis and then was at the end of his resources. The last dog his mother had touched was a guest star on Sunrise Bay and she’d only done it under great duress with Valium. Dad... would probably do it, but somehow get eaten by a bear in the attempt. Or try to start a dog walking side hustle.

“You better be on your best behavior,” David informed the sleeping animal. “Because I really like Cruella Deville’s style.” 

He managed to walk and feed her without too much incident on Sunday. When he got into the empty bed, he grabbed Patrick’s pillow. It was too quiet again. He had to get some sleep or he’d be the walking dead at work. 

The dog hooked her little face over the edge of the bed. He pointed at her, “You’re taking advantage of my vulnerable state.” 

She hopped up and curled into his stomach, warm and just noisy enough. Eventually, he even fell asleep. 

“Did you sleep okay?” Patrick’s voice curled soft in his ear, an early morning wake-up call. 

“I managed,” he pulled on shoes, reaching numbly for the dog’s leash. It looked brisk out and he was vaguely annoyed he couldn’t fit into Patrick’s very thick winter coat. “You didn’t take your coat with you.” 

“I’ve been inside mostly,” he was assured. “They need me to haul up heavy things. Do you know they have every computer they’ve ever owned? Dad says he doesn't want 'them' to get his data.” 

“Wet electronics?” David stared at the dog, who danced a little on the floor, egging him onward. 

“Nothing plugged in,” he chuckled. “I’m being safe, promise. How’s our guest?” 

“Managing not to pee on my shoes, so better than some of my house guests back in the day,” he headed out into the grey lit morning. 

“You really used to know how to have fun.” 

“Mm,” he yawned as she sniffed around the grass on the side of the road. “How’s your mom?” 

“Less panicked now. A few old family albums got ruined which was pretty upsetting, but we’re going to go over to my aunt’s tomorrow and scan some of hers. Everything else wasn’t sentimental. I called an old friend out here who can put in a sump pump for them so it doesn’t happen again. I’m going to take them out to dinner tonight, being stuck in the house with all these fans and dehumidifiers going isn’t helping.” 

“You’re a good son.” 

“Thanks, mostly I’m a tired one. I think I can get home by Wednesday. Ricky should be by on Tuesday to start the sump pump work and the insurance guy is supposed to by end of today,” David could hear Patrick clicking away, probably drawing up an agenda. Something he wouldn’t even show his parents, just a way to soothe himself that everything would happen. 

“I’ll be here,” David wrinkled his nose as the dog squatted. “Me and our house guest. For now.” 

Patrick didn’t suggest David begin the process of looking for someone to take the dog on his own. It was probably the last thing on his mind right now. 

They hung up after another minute and David stared at the poop in the grass. It was a roadside with nothing in either direction. There was no one else around. He took off at a brisk walk and the dog trotted happily beside him. 

He got about fifteen feet and remembered the last time in New York that he’d stepped in poop. How he’d ranted for a solid fifteen minutes about careless dog owners and what they deserved to have happen to them. With a heavy sigh, he looped back, fished out the heinous bright blue bags Patrick had bought and heaved his way through picking it up, tying the bag and moving as quickly as possible to the first available dumpster. 

“I deserve a pastry now,” he informed the dog, looping back to the apartment. 

Hands were very thoroughly washed. 

As if the world knew Patrick was out of town, the store was shockingly busy for a Monday. The dog quickly retreated to the backroom, apparently as over the parade of people as David. He ate lunch out of his emergency stash of protein bars. He let the dog pee in the alley behind the store while keeping look out. Not that pee was going to somehow hurt the carefully cultivated atmosphere of gross neglect of the neighboring building. 

Twyla came in just before he was about to close and begged for his remaining supply of eggs since something he quickly deleted from his memory had happened to the cafe’s last remaining carton. All said and done, he was hungry and annoyed by the time he flipped the store’s sign to closed. 

“Let’s go,” he tugged a little at the dog’s leash as soon as the last lock slid into place. He could go to the cafe. Twyla had been grateful and might throw in something extra, but he was tired and home sounded far better. 

They had walked there in the morning. He should've gotten the car from Dad. It was dark now, later than he thought, and he could feel his blood sugar levels plummeting. He was about to pull his phone out of his pocket and search once more in vain for some place that would deliver to Schitt’s Creek when the dog stopped dead in her tracks. 

“Come on,” David tugged. “Put the moves on.” 

Her ears were pricked up. Something in the bushes crackled. 

“Okay, that’s probably just like a squirrel or something,” he tugged again, more anxious to go. How mad would Patrick be if made a run for it and left the dog to fend for herself? 

The bushes rattled again. Out jumped a hissing ball of fur. David screamed. It was a massive raccoon, eyes wild in the dusk. He thought it might be foaming at the mouth. The dog stood her ground and started barking, loud bass barks that seemed too large to come out of her little body. Her teeth were bared, strikingly dangerous suddenly with the sharp canines and rumbling growl before each explosive bark. 

The raccoon hissed again, then turned tail and ran. The dog went right on barking until it had to be long gone. 

She sneezed once, gave a last harrumph of a bark then resumed walking. Only to stop again because David was holding the leash and he wasn’t moving. 

“You saved me,” he said to her. She looked up at him, all sweetness and quiet again. “You saved me from a huge rabid beast."

She gave an inquisitive whine. Right. He sucked in a deep breath, "Who’s a good girl?” 

Her tail started to cautiously wag. 

“The very best girl,” he repeated, squatting down and she ran to him, tail going so quickly it blurred in the dying light. He even let her lick his face. Just once though. 

He ate leftover pizza for dinner and gave her two pieces of sausage along with her horrible kibble. Stevie called around eight, 

“To make sure you haven’t lapsed into a helpless puddle,” she said brightly. 

“I did live on my own before all this, you know.” 

“And how was that for you?” 

“I almost got bitten by a rabid raccoon, where is your sympathy?” 

She had none. Patrick was too tired to summon anything more than an acknowledging ‘hm’, so David just talked to him until he could hear even sleeping breaths over the phone. 

“No one cares about rabies the way you do,” he told the dog. She jumped up on the bed. 

Patrick wound up coming back on Thursday. And he basically dropped his suitcase and fell into bed. 

“I’ll open,” David heard vaguely the next morning, a press of lips to his temple. “See you when you get up.” 

Eventually, David stumbled into the store with an offering of a cup of tea and was delighted to get a thorough kiss hello that he’d missed last night. 

“I can’t believe you sold all those hand stitched change purses,” Patrick didn’t let go of him and David was happy to stay pressed together. “Those things were way too marked up.” 

“I think they were exquisite and clearly people agreed with me.” 

“You put them on sale, didn’t you?” 

“There may have been a tiny little sales tag.” 

“It’s not sale season,” Patrick chided, but he was smiling too broadly and David kissed him again. 

The dog padded out to sniff at the bag David was holding. He opened it and gave a muffin to Patrick, set out another for himself, then presented the dog with a biscuit. 

“Sit, Cas,” the dog reluctantly sit, then licked her lips. He gave her the biscuit. 

“Cas?” Patrick looked between the two of them. 

“What? We can’t just call her dog,” David huffed. “I read an article about how it confuses them if you don’t call them something. And just Dog is...incorrect.” 

“Okay, so you named her Cas?” 

“Cashmere,” David corrected. “But it was sort of a mouthful when I was teaching her to sit.” 

Patrick was staring at him, “I see.” 

“It was a very very slow day on Thursday,” he picked up his muffin. “And Twyla made a batch of peanut butter cookies and forgot to put sugar in them, so instant dog treats.” 

“You know what they say when you name an animal...” 

“Hm?” David peeled off a corner of the muffin where it looked crispiest, popping it into his mouth. “Haven't heard that one."

“So if I check your Instagram right now, there’s no pictures of the dog...of Cashmere on there, right?” 

“There’s one because I thought maybe that’d be another way to find the owner,” he frowned. 

Patrick thumbed open his phone and pulled up David’s profile. The top photo was Cas sprawled in the grass on a pile of fallen leaves, a few more yellow ones dancing down around her. 

“Lost dog, found in Schitt’s Creek. If you’re the owner, dm me,” Patrick read off. 

“Told you,” David rolled his eyes. “I’m not even sure what you’re accusing me of.” 

“I’m not accusing you,” Patrick sipped his tea, a half smile lingering on his lips. “Just interested.” 

That night, Patrick was still tired looking around the eyes, so David got up and got Cas’ leash and took her for a walk over Patrick’s protests. That was just being a good fiance. 

On Saturday, Patrick suggested they start looking for someone to take Cas. 

“Right,” David took out his phone. “There’s probably all sorts of apps for that.” 

“Sure,” Patrick leaned against the counter. “Websites too.” 

“No one uses websites anymore,” David tsked. “I only let you make the store one because Google has to get it’s information from somewhere.” 

“Gracious of you,” Patrick rolled his eyes. “So you’re going to take care of this?” 

“Yeah, yes,” David moved a few bars of soap around. “I’m on it.” 

It took him awhile to find a good curated set of photos for Cas. There were a surprising amount on his phone for the short time they’d had her. Most of them were from the days Patrick had been away. It’d been distracting to take cute little photos of her sleeping or incidentally posing with a product. He might’ve posted a few of them to the store’s Instagram which Patrick chronically forgot existed. 

By dinner, there were a few inquiries for Cas. David messaged back and forth with them, eliminating them quickly. One was a kid without a parent’s permission, one gave off serious creeper vibes, and the other was Roland, who was bored at work and didn’t actually want a dog. 

“I didn’t even know Roland had a phone,” David groused, looking through the app after dinner. Cas was squeezed in next to him on the couch, in the spot she’d claimed as his. 

“Everyone has a phone,” Patrick said without much conviction. “I’m sure you’ll find someone.” 

Applications rolled in and David dismissed them one by one. Some people already had a lot of dogs or had never owned a dog before. Some gave off bad vibes, others asked obnoxious questions about her teeth. One person had just straight up started hitting on David and never asked a question about the dog. Who knew petfinder apps were secret dating apps?

They put up their scarecrow in the window and there was a soft pile of fabric gathered at the base. Cas claimed it as a bed, and the ensuing photo went right up on the store’s page. Customers commented on her more, fussing over her, and she soaked all the attention up. 

“Ugh,” David turned in bed one night to bury his face between Patrick’s shoulder blades. Cas was barking at something and it was still pitch black out. She didn’t usually do that. She probably had to pee. “Could you take her out?” 

“She’s your dog,” Patrick grumbled into his pillow. “You take her.” 

David was halfway back to the apartment, leash dangling from one hand when the words finally impacted him. Cas walked behind him, alert to the woods around them. 

“You’re not my dog,” he told her. “I don’t want a dog. I don’t need a dog. You just invited yourself over. I already have a family and fiance and a Stevie.”

They got back in, David slipping off his shoes in the hall so he wouldn’t wake Patrick again. Cas bolted in as soon as the door was open to jump neatly on the bed just where his feet would be. When he climbed in, she sighed, rolling against his legs. 

In the morning, he deleted her profile on all the apps. Over oatmeal he said, “Look, I know you didn’t sign on for a dog. If you can’t live with her, I really will find someone to take her.” 

“I like dogs,” Patrick said softly. “I don’t mind having her. I thought you’d mind. I never thought you’d want one.” 

“I was a little kid once too,” he dipped his spoon into oatmeal. “Before I knew we weren’t ‘dog people’, I thought it’d be nice. To have one.” 

“So then...we have one,” Patrick’s socked feet wrapped around one of his ankles. “It’s a good thing. I like her.” 

Cas finished crunching her breakfast and came over to flop at their feet. 

David took a picture. He even posted it on his own account, 

_This is Cashmere, permanent house guest. _

Alexis left a vomit emoji followed by a lengthy explanation of how she still thought it was all very cute that they were adopting. The next time Stevie saw him, she laughed so hard she almost cried. But she also gave Cas an actual petting and turned around the ‘No Pets’ sign in the lobby. Mom issued a ‘No Furry Beasts’ rule on their room, but Dad melted over her, stroking her ears and telling David for the fiftieth time about his childhood dog Itchy, who’d run away when he was ten. 

“I got you something,” Patrick handed David a black velvet box.They were sitting on the stoop of the store, giving out candy. It was dark, kids running through the streets, shrieking in their costumes. One of Patrick’s ideas and as usual, it was a pretty good one. It was a crisp night and it was really nice to sit outside all bundled up, shoved up close together for warmth.

“We did this already, remember?” David teased. “Do you need a refresher?” 

“It’s not for you wear,” Patrick elbowed him, gently. “Open it.” 

David flipped it open. Inside was a tag for collar, cut into the vague shape of a Rose. It had Cashmere’s name, the apartment’s address and David’s phone number listed. 

“So she never gets lost again,” Patrick said softly. 

The hand with four gold rings clutched around the small tag.

“That’s a really good idea,” he managed to get out, leaning down to attach it to her collar. The nice leather one Patrick had bought weeks ago. “We should get her microchipped too.” 

“We will,” Patrick’s hand rested against the back of his neck, solid and warm. “She'll always find her way home.”


End file.
